


Shot to the Heart

by NotYourHousekeeperDear



Category: Sherlock - Fandom
Genre: F/M, M/M, Season 3 fix-it, Season/Series 03-04 Hiatus, Unresolved Romantic Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-11
Updated: 2014-04-15
Packaged: 2018-01-18 22:54:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 4,216
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1445836
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NotYourHousekeeperDear/pseuds/NotYourHousekeeperDear
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An attempt to make Season 3 make a little more sense- John explores his feelings for Mary and Sherlock as the plot thickens...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. "What I like"

**Author's Note:**

> Note on the title- The title came from the Bon Jovi song in my head when I was thinking about Mary (apologies for actually getting the lyric wrong- should be 'through' the heart...)

So apparently I’m an idiot. Sorry, that should read ‘adrenalin junkie’. It’s “what I like”, she tells me, and he just nods, those piercing blue-green eyes that know everything, and also nothing. 

He’s at 221B now, pacing around the sofa, filling the walls with pictures of Moriaty and his web. Mary is off doing acupuncture, reflexology or some such rubbish, anything to bring the baby sooner. She’s had enough of this pregnancy, she tells me, sighing into her cup of tea. I nod sympathetically, but my insides are twirled, full of hatred and wrath. To her it’s a baby, to me it’s a bump and a collar, tying me to her with a leash. 

I’ve been trapped before. In Afghanistan, we huddled in our make-shift shelter sometimes, tending for the injured whilst it rained explosives. Our tents shook from the piecing bangs and shatters, but my hands remained steady, doctor’s hands that healed and soothed whilst the world came crashing down. Doing the same now, strangely, in this warped war of my own, my hands fit together the wooden Ikea cot, twirling the Allen keys whilst my mind rages fire.

My mobile rings and it’s him. 

“John” the low baritone sounds, urgently. My heart warms, the adrenalin soaring through the system in quick response.

“Sherlock, what is it?’ I reply.

“I need you at 221B”, he says. 

I stare down at the wooden pieces in disassembled arrangements on the floor. She wanted it finished before she got home she said, kissing my head. 

“No more procrastinating love, it’s any day now, you know”. She smiled affectionately, but in her eyes there was a warning. I was supposed to be doing this, to be here. Sherlock had told me I needed to be, she had told me the same. “It’s what I like” they had said. 

“Be there in 15, ” I reply, throwing the Allen key on the carpet. 

We live right near the tube, so I wait at the crowded, stuffy Underground station and push on to the first train going West. I get off at Baker Steet and walk down, the damp London air, biting at my shirt collar. Mary is not going to be happy about the cot. _Oh well, I think, the worst she can do is shoot me. Apparently, that’s “What I like”.  
_

Smiling, I bang on the knocker.


	2. Eye combing

John Watson was angry. Sherlock could see hear it in the knocker and see it in the tension in John’s back as he greeted him briskly in the foyer. Anger was so much John’s modus operandi nowadays Sherlock almost neglected to note it. Perhaps even more frustrated than normal today? Sherlock observed the slight bruising on John’s fingers and the careless arrangement of his cardigan on his shoulders. 

“The cot is not going to do itself, you know,” Sherlock observed. “And Mary is too busy with her reflexology hocus pocus to force the issue.”

John gazed at him, that lovely mixture of wonder and admiration, that sent a pulse of warmth through Sherlock’s spine. “How did you…. Oh never mind” John stammered. The anger slipped away for a second, but crept back as John, scanned the room. His empty chair, bereft of the usual Union Jack pillow, the wall filled with pictures and notes, evidence of Sherlock’s busy mind and his preoccupations. 

“So what do you need me for then?” John demanded. 

Sherlock’s eyebrow raised. _Jealous John… Interesting…_

“I don’t need you, John. I thought you might a little break from Ikea babyworld” 

“Right, Well, I’ll just go on home then shall I?” John snapped..

Sherlock stared at John confused for a moment. Not so much jealousy, more like needing to be needed then. Sherlock sighed. His deductions about emotions were always the ones that undid him. Thankfully John was more likely to be impressed by a deduction about an Allen key incident than an accurate emotional assessment. 

“No, John. I do need you. I’m stuck!” Sherlock ruffled his fingers through his curls exaggerating his exasperation for John’s benefit. He was rewarded with a small twitch from John’s fingers and an involuntary eye comb through his hair. _He wants to be the one to do that…._

“Moriaty’s web. It’s not making sense is it?” asked John gently, his compassion reasserting itself.

“It’s a mess, that’s what it is” replied Sherlock, ruffling his hair again to double check John’s eye-comb. _Yes, definite eye –comb._

“Would you take a look?” he gestured at the wall. 

John moved closer to the wall, standing at the edge of the sofa. Sherlock slid next to him. He was close enough the breath a whiff of the whitening toothpaste Mary favoured and the faint smell of the apricot jam John had smeared on his morning toast. And then of course, he could smell just John, that familiar mixture of his laundry liquid and a woody muskiness. John adjusted his position slightly, but stayed close, as always, comfortably accepting Sherlock into his personal space. 

“Well, I see what you mean, “ said John, still staring at the wall. “It looks like there is no pattern at all, with the ‘Did you Miss Me?’ screenings. There is a fairly big WH Smith near that one, and that one too, but not these, so there goes that theory”

The light bulbs went off in Sherlock’s head, exploding into supernova.

“Of course! John you are genius!” he exclaimed.

“I am?” John replied.

“I can’t believed I missed the WH Smith clue! This is brilliant, John! Brilliant”. On impulse, Sherlock grabbed John’s face and kissed his cheek.

Too late, Sherlock saw the flush of confusion, and then yes, anger creep back into John’s expression.

“Sorry” said Sherlock, quickly. “Got carried away”. 

“That’s OK!” John looked at Sherlock and bit back a nervous laugh . 

“Come on then,” said Sherlock, grabbing his scarf and coat.


	3. Frenchmen

I’m pretty damn sure Englishmen don’t kiss each other on the cheek. Maybe in France or something they do, and Sherlock did tell me once he had French ancestry, but still. It’s not like I’ve seen Sherlock kiss Lestrade on the cheek or Mycroft (can you imagine?) He has done it to Mary. Maybe he sees me like he sees Mary, however that is.

If Mary had witnessed it, she would have teased me mercilessly. She is always going on about my ‘bromance’ with Sherlock, as if it is the cutest thing ever. Her acceptance of the importance of our relationship was something I loved about her in the beginning. Now, like everything else about her, it just grinds on me. I hate how she presumes to know what I was feeling, better than I could know, better than Sherlock could know. He knows nothing about “human nature” she is always saying, so we have to rely on her assessments. He knows nothing, I know nothing. She knows everything of course, and we have to rely on her. Rely on her lies…

“John!” Sherlock said sharply, those blue-green eyes piercing into mine in the cab.

“Hmm” I grunt. I am still stewing about Mary.

“I need you actually here, with me. Not obsessing about your domestic situation, here with me now” Sherlock said steadily. 

“Sure, it’s not like I’m about to have a baby with a psychopathic assassin nurse, and am facing a life time of playing Happy Families with a women I completely distrust and probably hate”. I reply. 

Well, sometimes it just comes out.

I look back at Sherlock, and try read his expression, as reserved and masked as ever. Our eyes meet and his angular face collapses into giggles, and before I know it we are giggling in the cab together like old times.

Smiling, I grab his hand and squeeze it.

I’m not even sure Frenchmen do that.


	4. Ghostbusters

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think this is the final edit of the chapter. I was getting very confused by my only double negatives . "There is no way Moriaty is not dead" is harder than you think!

   
It is quite possible John Watson has lost his head. Both women and men constantly were eye combing Sherlock’s curls, but hand holding in a cab was another thing entirely. Was it speaking of his desperation in the situation with Mary or of new found feelings of affection for Sherlock? Or could he even let himself believe that John always had feelings for him and just had never let himself show it?

Sherlock looked at John, who was now turned away, looking out the taxi window, as if nothing had happened at all. Perhaps it would be best if Sherlock deleted that last train of thought. Romantic musings were hardly his thing, and besides he really needed to concentrate on his theory.

“So as I was saying,” Sherlock began, “There is absolutely no way Moriaty is not dead”

“What?” John turned to him in wonder.

“Moriaty! Dead John!," Sherlock shouted in frustration, "Honestly, John! It's like you have a sympathetic pregnancy brain or something" 

“Hang on a minute, “ John interrupted incredulous, “How does Moriaty simultaneously broadcast himself across half of London if he is dead? Why would Mycroft, put you on a mission to stop Moriaty if he is dead? Is he some dangerous ghost now or something? Should I be getting out my proton pack or my Slimer-buster?”  


“What on earth are you talking about John?” Sherlock snapped.

“Don’t tell me you never saw Ghostbusters?” John answered

“No, I mean. Of course Moriaty is dead. Don’t be an idiot, John. I was there remember, I saw him blow his brains out. I even had to get my Belstaff drycleaned.”

“Then how…” John began, as the cab pulled up to the curb.

“I’ll show you.” Sherlock flashed him a smile, opened the taxi door, hopped out and walked towards the corner, leaving John to settle the fare with the cabbie.  
Sherlock heard John’s frustrated grumble first, before he felt his familiar presence beside him. 

“Well, just look John. Isn’t it completely obvious?”

“This is Charing Cross WH Smith” John stated

“Yes…”Sherlock replied patiently. For a smart man, John was completely slow at times. But at least he was here now, and not with Mary or thinking about Mary. He was standing next to Sherlock and looking at him with his face a familiar blend of frustration, awe and altertness.

“It’s one of the biggest media outlets in London?” John guessed.

“Keep going, John…´ Sherlock prompted.

“Well basically WH Smiths took over the newsagents on the High Street in the 70s. They’ve basically got the monopoly on selling news, magazines, I don’t know, crisps…”

“Hmm…So think John, what do the words media and monopoly remind you of? And it’s not bloody Rupert Murdoch”

John looked at him, the spark lit.

“Magnusen.”

“Game’s on, John” smiled Sherlock. 

"Hang on, isn't he dead as well?"


	5. Deductions

“No Magnusen is alive, John. You know that whole ‘Merry Christmas’ thing where I blew his brains out in front of you, got arrested by about ten agencies and shipped off to a suicide mission in Eastern Europe. That was Magnusen’s body double the whole time.” 

He ruffles his hair, impatient for me to keep up and follow his deductive leaps.

He is actually starting to annoy me now, and I feel my heart pulsing with anger. How I would love to punch that smug, arrogant expression off his face. 

_“And then you’d like to kiss it better, wouldn’t you, darling?”_   


I hear Mary’s mocking tones in my head. Still taunting my mind, even when she is miles away in some therapy room in London. My hate for her knows no bounds at the moment. She is even managing to ruin this adventure with Sherlock.

_“Glad to know you are enjoying your little adventure darling instead of doing the cot. Don’t worry about me, I’m just carrying your baby. You know the one, that’s not going to have anywhere to sleep because you can’t be bothered doing anything unless Sherlock is there as well oogling at you."_

Oh, she still has me, it’s that mental leash, pulling at my collar. And Sherlock thinks he has worries with his Mind Palace…

“Sherlock, just tell me what the hell is going on. I haven’t actually got all day,” I snap.

“Ok,” he nods. He’s looking at me like he has just deduced something further. Probably knows what I was thinking somehow, one of the many joys of having a deductive genius as your best friend. 

‘“Yes, you do need to get back and finish the cot before she gets home”

There you go, does it every time. Thankfully his deductive powers don’t delve into my fantasy about punching him and then snogging him senseless or there would be real trouble. Anyway, it seems I have Mary for that…

“So as you finally identified John, the whole ‘Did you miss me” fiasco smacks of Magnusen, and the locations of the screening, each near a WH Smith or an UKTV building, confirms it, as both cooperations were controlled by him. His plan was most likely to discredit the work I had done dissembling Moriaty’s web and of course, to discredit me and ruin my reputation. Perhaps even bring back the old Richard Brooks theory.“

“Ok, so how did he manage to coordinate and do this after he was dead. Who was acting on his behalf?” I ask

“You always ask the best questions, my dear” Sherlock grins.


	6. "It's Time"

There was only one way Sherlock was going to be able to answer John’s question.

“Here, take this,” Sherlock threw Sally Donovan’s ID wallet at John, as he walked towards the WH Smith.

“Donavan’s ID. Where on earth did you get this?” asked John.

“There is not much Phillip won’t do for me these days” Sherlock shrugged.

“Anderson?” John smirked, “You have got to be kidding me”

Sherlock smiled, bustling past the women’s magazine stand, and pulling out Lestrade’s ID.

“Hang on, a minute Sherlock“ said John, pulling at his coat. “How on earth am I going to pass as DI Sally Donavan?”

“Snarl a bit more?” Sherlock joked, as they approached the counter. He hadn’t enjoyed himself this much in ages.

“Good morning” Sherlock said to the pimply faced boy serving at the front WH Smith counter, flashing the ID and giving John a quick nudge to do the same. I am “DS Greg Lestrade and this is DI Sam Donovan from Scotland Yard. We’d like to speak to the manager please.”

The boy stared wide –eyed at Sherlock for a moment and then did a quick re-stock.

“Um certainly detective, I’ll call her downstairs. His left arm twitched and he reached for the counter phone with his right. 

Sherlock’s brain whizzed.

Panic button. 

He grabbed John’s hand roughly. 

“We’ll need to run” he said in a low voice next to his ear.

Pushing through the store, Sherlock pulled John out onto Charing Cross Road and ran west into Soho. He turned right and left and then a sharp right again. Soho he knew well, every inch of it burned well into his mental map. John kept up well (obviously the morning riding was having a positive effect on his aerobic capacity), pausing only for breath when Sherlock did, by the bins in Bridle Lane.

“To your left, John” Sherlock gasped, catching the eye of the man in black with the silver handgun. He grabbed his hand again, pulling John through a more complex route this time, left and right, and over the wall, until he was sure he had lost the assassin.

“What… What.. Who was that?” John gasped for breath.

They were safe and there was no disguising the look of excitement on John’s face. Only John Watson would have so much fun being chased by a lethal assassin, a fact Sherlock had to admit he quite loved about him.

“Now, if we knew that…” Sherlock begun, “We’d know exactly…”

John’s phone buzzed loudly.

John absent-mindedly took his phone out of his pocket, sliding the lock screen.

His face crumbled and he slowly looked up to meet Sherlock’s eyes.

“It’s Mary” he said, flatly, “She says, it’s time”.


	7. A Vow

“I’ve got to go” I realise and I look up at him, catching a reflection of my fear in eyes, before his mask of calm collectiveness resumes its usual place on his expression.

“I’ll get us a cab” Sherlock replies, standing up and brushing off his jacket.

“No, it’s fine. You need to find out who was chasing us. I can find my way to the hospital, you know” I smile weakly, unsure if I want him to come in any case. 

“I’m coming with, John” he says firmly, closing the discussion and stepping out on to the street to hail us a cab. 

The cab ride to St John’s seems to take forever, with the cab driver seeming to stop for every bus, traffic light and random pedestrian to pass. 

“Would you mind speeding up, mate. My wife is having a baby” I snap.

“Yeah and after I drop you guys off I’m going to Buckingham palace to have tea with the Queen”, the cabbie smirks.

Before I could stop him, Sherlock was off his seat, leaning over the driver.

“Look here, ‘mate’, my friend here is an ex soldier who is a mean shot with a gun, he has killed people, some of them in my company. I am a high functioning sociopath and his wife is a trained assassin and she is about to have his baby. I think you might want to put your foot on that accelerator, don’t you?”

The cabbie went white and moved into the bus lane.

“Thanks” I say to Sherlock, smiling, “I think”

“John…” Sherlock began,

“Don’t worry about the fare, mate” says the cabbie quickly, “Good luck with the baby”, 

We’d reached the A and E entry to St Johns. Somewhere in that building was Mary, giving birth to our baby. I need to focus. Suddenly, I want Sherlock to go. There was the life I had shared with Sherlock of running away from villains and searching for clues and I loved it. But a new life was coming and I wasn’t even sure where I fitted into it. Sherlock loyally sticking by my side wasn’t helping me work that out. 

“Sherlock, I think you should go” I say, “Thanks for the cab ride, but I’ll be fine without you”

“I’m not leaving, John” he replies stubbornly. “I made a vow, remember”


	8. Little Bit of Pain

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have very mixed feelings about Mary. I really loved her in TEH and SOT, but was really angry with her TLV. Writing this chapter I have found to be very cathartic for me- I've even decided I quite like her again! It's quite refreshing in a way to have such a complex female character on the screen- not an angel or a villian but a multifaceted, enigmatic person for us to wonder about, just like Sherlock in so many ways... (but definitely not as good a match for John!)

Sherlock eyed the nurse at the obstetrics station shrewdly. Only three years post-qualification, a single mother, efficient but hardly a deep thinker, she was not who he would have chosen to support John’s baby’s entry into the world. Perhaps he should have swallowed his pride and asked for Mycroft’s assistance to ensure Mary got more experienced nurses and doctors than what could be ensure by public health. Too late now, perhaps, but maybe still worth a call…

"Oh Dr Watson “ said the nurse, “Dr Michaels asked specifically to update you on your wife’s progress. He said he remembered you from Barts. He is just in the staff room over there if you would like to speak to him.”

John’s face formed a reflexive smile, but it was not difficult for Sherlock to deduce the naked fear in his eyes.

“Go.” Sherlock demanded. “I’ll go in to Mary.”

John nodded at Sherlock briskly, and he headed off for the staff room. Sherlock turned down the corridor. 

“Mary” Sherlock said as he opened the door to Mary’s birthing room.

Mary was sitting on a hospital bed, leading forwards, her face in grimace.

“Sherlock, where is John?” she asked.

“He’s coming, just talking to the Doctor” Sherlock went towards her and kissed her on the cheek.

“How are you?” he asked.

“You can’t deduce?” her grimace unfolded to a small smile. “Hold my hand, and count to sixty won’t you?”

Sherlock stared at her, and complied without argument, as Mary squeezed his hand hard.

“59… 60… Better?” he asked.

Mary sighed deeply. “Oh yes, thank you, love, “ she said still holding his hand, “ They only last 60 seconds and are coming about every ten minutes at the moment. You know, out of the two of us, I actually reckon you got the easier deal,” Mary grinned.

“Are you telling me that, 60 seconds of a little bit of pain every ten minutes or so is harder than murdering someone, facing imprisonment, and being sent on a suicide mission?” Sherlock replied.

“Little bit of pain! Little bit of pain!” Mary exclaimed, bursting into laugher. Sherlock joined in, enjoying the release of tension as he giggled. He bent over and gave Mary a kiss on the head. 

“What on earth is going on here?” demanded John from the open doorway, gaping at the scene before him.

“Oh, Sherlock, was just coaching me through a little contraction here. You’re not too bad you know,” Mary grinned at Sherlock.  


“Sherlock looked at John. He was standing rigid at the doorway, a man, overwhelmed by pain and confusion, betrayal and loss. Sherlock shuddered. 

“It’s time Mary,” Sherlock said. “You need to tell him.”

“John, come here,” Mary nodded. “I’ve only got about six minutes or so before the next contraction so I’ll try be brief”

“Tell me what, Mary,” John said coldly, moving towards the bed but keeping his eyes locked on Sherlock’s.

“In a few hours, and not too many I hope, I’m going to give you your baby and then you are never going to see me again. I’m no mother, John, but you, you are going to be an incredible father”

“What?” John stammered, “But how, how can you do that, Mary?” 

“But that’s it John. I’m not Mary Mortsan. I never have been. Magnusen made it my mission for Mary to work for you, fall in love with you and marry you which Mary Mortsan did. But it’s not me. I’ve never been Mary. She is an act. And this child deserves better than that for a parent, Sherlock is right. “

“Sherlock?” John glared at Sherlock his face a volcano ready to explore. 

Sherlock cringed involuntarily, expecting the punch to the face any moment. 

“John, John!” Mary pulled John’s hand towards her, insisting on his gaze. “ Listen to me, Sherlock loves you. He will do anything for you and he never ever meant to hurt you. Blame me if you like, or better yet, blame Magnusen, because he is behind all this. I mean, my initial brief was to kill Sherlock, which I very nearly did, you know that John. Really, you’ve known this all along if you just stop to think about it!”

“That was surgery! You told me that was surgery!” John screamed at Sherlock.

“I made him lie to you, John. I made a deal…” Mary grimaced, the beginnings of contraction contorting her body. “He was to get rid of Magnusen and I’d give you the baby, but only on the condition, we didn’t tell you until now. Magnusen might be dead, but his network are watching me, and I need to be sure I can disappear before they find me,. John, please, I need you now, hold me through this John. Please, John, " Mary begged.

John took a deep breath. He looked at Sherlock

“I’ll be outside, “ Sherlock smiled as he walked out the room.


	9. Pink

“She looks like you,” Sherlock’s deep baritone sounds behind me as I stand in front of my little girl’s plastic hospital bassinette. She is asleep, dreaming, her eyelids twitching in REM flutters as she breaths short, quick breaths, her little chest rising and falling with each rapid motion. I’m not sure I have ever seen something so fragile and beautiful at the same time. 

“Really?” 

I turn to look at him. He is still wearing his coat and scarf, immune somehow to the hospital’s central heating system and although, like me, he has been here for days.

“Same pent-up, frustrated expression, wondering what on earth she is doing here.” Sherlock replies.

I laugh.

“She gone?” I ask, although I’m not really sure I want to know.

He nods.

Mary is gone. I am it for this little girl. She is going to grow up without a mother, and with, well, only me, John, the wreck of a person I am.

“Sherlock,” I begin, “I don’t think I can do this. Not by myself. I… I just can’t… I can’t even think of a name for her for Christ’s sake. How am I supposed to even start to bring her up?”

I am suddenly overwhelmed by tears, shaking and ripping through my body. 

“John.” He says, and pulls me into his arms as I shake and shiver through my tears. I breathe into his Belstaff, calming myself down, and begin to pull away.

He pulls me in again, this time laying his dark curls on my shoulder.

“Go on, “ he smiles, “I know you want to.”

I giggle, and playfully ruffle those damn curls.

“Thanks” I smile and pull away again. 

“You know, John, “ Sherlock says thoughtfully, “There is a lot of pink here, pink blanket, pink jumpsuit….”

“Pink dummy, pink unfilled-name tag…” I add, my eyes widen, suddenly seeing where he is going.

“Pink baby” adds Sherlock.

“Her name is Rachel,” I announce.

“It’s where this all started, isn’t it?” grins Sherlock.

Joy floods through my veins, and before I know it my fingers are in those damn curls again, drawing him close. 

THE END


End file.
